


And Just Like That

by maxette



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (very light), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Coming Out, Demisexual Character, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, goes AU at Jack's graduation (no kiss), hockey magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9582320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxette/pseuds/maxette
Summary: Jack doesn’t kiss Bitty at his graduation. Eventually Bitty moves on and Jack is crushed when he realizes what he missed out on. But what if that wasn’t their only shot?An alternate get together, and remix offind your grace, don’t hide your faceby knightlightly in which the sad Jack we visited in 2017 gets his own happy ending.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [find your grace, don't hide your face](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489943) by [knightlightly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlightly/pseuds/knightlightly). 



> Title from Ellie Goulding’s “Still Falling For You.” 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to knightlightly who was incredibly kind and lovely to me and the plot bunny her fic inspired.
> 
>  **If you haven’t read[ _find your grace, don’t hide your face_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6489943) yet, it is REQUIRED READING** , not only because this remix will otherwise be quite confusing, but because it’s absolutely wonderful in its own right. Seriously, if you read it a while back, I recommend reading it again before you start in on this.

Eric’s last week at Samwell is marked by three phone calls.

The first wakes him up. He squints at the time and blearily wonders at it being two hours early for his alarm. Then he notices Jack’s name. Eric slides to answer immediately.

“Jack!” he croaks. “Hello, stranger. I wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. You do know it’s… 7:40 on a Sunday morning, mister?”

“Bitty,” Jack says, and oh, Eric is definitely awake now. He feels those two syllables like a physical touch, his nickname so rare to hear from Jack, especially now that it’s rare to hear from him at all.

“Jack?” he says, when Jack doesn’t seem to have anything else to add. “Is everything alright?”

“Bitty,” Jack says again, “Bittle. Is it – 2017?”

“Yes,” Eric says slowly, sitting up. “Last I checked!”

“And we haven’t – talked in a while, right?”

“Um – no, we haven’t, Jack, that’s true.”

“Have you – ever been to the Sheraton out by the mall?”

What the hell? Eric rubs his eyes.

“Not that I remember?”

“You’d remember,” Jack mutters and Eric laughs.

“Nice hotel, huh?”

Jack makes a wretched strangled sound. Eric reaches up to cradle his phone in both hands.

“Jack?”

“Never mind, Bittle. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You didn’t! Jack, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Weird dream.”

And he decided to call Eric? “Have I been any help at all?”

Jack chokes out a laugh. “Yeah, you have. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Really.”

Jack is quiet for another long while. Eric waits, just listening to Jack’s breathing even out, and the next time he speaks he sounds a lot steadier: “Graduation’s next weekend, right?”

“Sure is! I can barely believe it. Feels like the semester just started.”

“I remember that feeling. I kept wishing time would just stop and let me stay in this moment for a while.”

“Which moment?”

“Lots of moments. Just sitting on the bus on the way home from a roadie, even.”

Eric closes his eyes and takes himself back to a dark bus driving over smooth highway, the muffled sounds of his team whispering to one another, phone game sound effects, music through headphones – and somehow, even though it’s been two years, Jack beside him, sharing his big wool buffalo check blanket – the one he left folded in the closet of Eric’s room and neither of them has ever mentioned again.

“Yeah,” Eric says, “I know what you mean.”

“I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t waste another minute of my precious time here _sleeping_.”

Jack chuckles. “Now, Bittle, I better not see you running on fumes on your own graduation day.”

“You’re coming?”

“If you don’t mind—”

“Of course not! I’d love to see you there.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Eric’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Great. That’ll be great. Hey, how’s your knee?”

“Stronger every day,” Jack says.

“Thanks for that sound bite, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“It is! It—” Jack sighs. “It’s torture, Bittle. I can’t decide if it was worse when the team was playing well without me, or when—”

“It’s like that last string of away games? That was brutal.”

And they’re off, like no time has passed at all. Eric puts him on speaker while he gets dressed, and then takes him downstairs to make breakfast with him. When Chowder figures out who Eric’s talking to, he steals the phone away, and then Dex and Nursey each need to have a turn, and by the time they finally let Jack go on his morning run, it’s almost noon.

And in less than a week he’s going to see Jack in person! Eric starts on the dishes feeling quite satisfied about the whole thing.

 

* * *

 

The second phone call is two days later. Eric pulls his phone out of his back pocket, half-hoping that it’s Jack again – and _whoa nelly_ does he need to nip that in the bud. He’ll do better to keep his expectations low – plus it turns out to be his own lovely boyfriend calling him, which is what he should always be hoping for.

“Why, if it isn’t the future Doctor Connor Bell. Hello there, darlin’. Did you just finish your interview?”

“I’m in! Oh, Eric, the interview couldn’t have gone better. This place is the greatest, I’m telling you. I’m going to UCSF!”

Eric’s heart thumps against his ribs. “They gave you a formal offer?”

“On the spot. I’m signed, sealed, and delivered.”

“Wow!”

“It’s so beautiful out here, Eric. And everyone’s so nice! You’re going to love it.”

“Yes! I – I can’t wait to visit.”

Eric winces, grateful they’re not video chatting, because he knows very well that’s not what Connor means. He’s made it clear that he wants Eric to move with him to San Francisco – or Boston, or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or Durham, wherever he ends up deciding to go to medical school. So San Francisco now, for sure. And Eric wants that, too. He doesn’t particularly want to live on the west coast, or to be that far from his mom, and all his friends, but he does want to be close to Connor, and medical school is a longtime commitment. Connor will be in San Francisco for the next four years at least, and probably a lot longer for his residency, and maybe forever with all the connections he’ll be making in the community.

It would have been really nice if Connor had decided on Harvard. Eric loves this area – the weather, the landscape, the people, the food. Ransom and Holster are in Boston, ending their first years at Harvard Med and playing defense for the Bruins, respectively. Shitty plans to stay there after law school and Lardo will probably join him after she finishes her master’s. And Jack – well, despite the errant early morning phone call, it doesn’t make sense to figure Jack in his plans. But Providence is only an hour away. That’s just a geographic fact. The point is: Eric would love to live in Boston.

Even as he’s been rooting for Harvard, though, he applied to a bunch of bakeries and restaurants in the Bay Area, and even applied to the ICC campus in Silicon Valley, though he isn’t sure he wants to go to culinary school, wants to get some experience working in a professional kitchen first, to see if he likes it and if he really needs more education to be successful in this industry. All those applications have even yielded a few responses. He could get a job in San Francisco, or at least something to do with his time and some more student loans.

“I want to start looking at apartments now, but it’s too soon," Connor says, "The competition is crazy! I can’t believe they don’t have brokers out here, the market being like it is.”

Right. Eric probably can’t get a job that easily affords his half of the $4000 studio apartments he’s seen on Craigslist. He and Connor together would be able to afford a room somewhere. It would be just like living in the Haus! Basically. He swallows against a dry throat.

“No kidding. I’m so happy for you, Con.”

“ _I’m_ so happy for me! It’s going to be amazing. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know!” And Eric is part of that “everything.” He should be honored to be included in the future Connor has envisioned. And he is! It’s just not what Eric wants for himself.

“I love you,” Connor says softly.

“I love you, too, honey. You’re still coming home Thursday morning, right?”

“You know it!”

“I’ll see you at baggage claim.”

“Eric, it’ll be seven in the morning, you really don’t have to—”

“With bells on.”

 

* * *

 

The third phone call comes the next afternoon, an unknown number, 617 area code. Dex holds up his phone for him to see since Eric’s hands are covered in sticky biscuit dough.

“Want me to reject it?” he says.

“No, silly! Hold it up to my ear for me?”

Dex looks at him like he’s crazy as he does as he’s told like a good frog.

“Good afternoon!” he says. “This is Eric.”

“Well, good afternoon to you,” says a woman on the other end of the line. “Is that Eric also known as Bitty?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Hi, Eric. This is Joanne Chang, I’m—”

“Last year’s James Beard Foundation Award winner for Outstanding Baker?”

Dex’s eyebrows go way, way up. Thank goodness for biscuit dough because Eric would have dropped the damn phone if he’d been holding it himself.

Joanne Chang chuckles – at something _Eric_ said. “That’s true.”

“I know, yes – hi! Are you – is this about the internship at Flour? I can’t believe you call all the applicants personally!”

“Oh, I don’t! But a mutual friend told me your application deserved some special attention.”

“Oh my lord, I’m so sorry. It was Shitty, wasn’t it?”

 _Lord_ , what if it _wasn’t_ Shitty and he just said the word “shitty” to Joanne Chang? But it makes sense: Shitty complains all the time that Eric got him hooked on stress relief via baked goods, and he was spending way too much time and money at Boston’s Flour Bakery and Cafe. And of everyone Eric knows, Shitty’s the most likely to find himself friends with the owner and general queen amongst bakers, Joanne Chang.

Joanne Chang grew up in the south and moved to Massachusetts for college. Joanne Chang started out baking cookies for her friends at school. Joanne Chang went on to beat Bobby Flay on the Food Network and channeled that success into a small baking empire around Boston, all without any formal training. Joanne Chang wrote the first cookbook Eric ever bought. Joanne Chang is Eric’s hero.

“Don’t be sorry!” says Joanne Chang. “Shitty has quite the sophisticated palette, so if he tells me you make better pies than I do—”

“Excuse me, he did _what?”_

Joanne Chang full-on cackles this time. “Listen, our Cambridgeport location closes at six. Would you come by after that one day this week? We’ll bake some things and have a chat.”

“Have a – yes! I can be there tonight if you like! I’d be delighted to, Miss Chang.”

“Please call me Joanne. And that works for me, um – may I call you Bitty?”

“Please!”

“I’ll see you at six-thirty. Street parking can be tricky, so don’t fuss if you’re late.”

Late. Ha! It’s barely four, but Eric gets the biscuits in the oven as quick as he can, changes into a clean shirt and his nicest pair of Oxfords, grabs Connor’s car keys, and is on the road to Boston within twenty minutes. It’s all quite convenient, because he has to be in the city tomorrow morning, anyway, to pick up Connor from Logan, and going there tonight means skipping rush hour traffic at the crack of dawn. But that’s just a bonus.

Eric has applied to jobs and internships at one hundred and thirteen bakeries and restaurants around the country. More than a few have shown interest in him, but nothing like a phone call from the head baker – of _Flour Bakery._ This is singular. This is _it._ Eric is going to get one of the internship spots at Flour Bakery or die in some horrible kitchen accident while trying.

He parks and wastes some time wandering around the neighborhood. He doesn’t get through to Connor, so he has a nice long talk with his mom. Things have been difficult with Coach since he brought home a boy last summer, but his mom has been amazing, more open and supportive than ever. She watches the clock and makes sure he’s knocking on the door of Flour at six-thirty exactly.

Joanne Chang lays out three baking dishes and hands him a recipe for one pie’s worth of pâte brisée. “Let’s start with some peach pie. You make the dough and I’ll make the filling.”

She’s testing his ability to think on his feet and work with another chef to bake something.  Eric smooths his hands over his apron and takes a deep breath. He can do this.

“I know this recipe by heart, ma’am,” he says, counting out sticks of butter. “My mama taught me to make pie dough fifty-fifty butter and lard, and I swore by that for years – until I tried _this_ recipe from your first cookbook. You still lose a little flakiness, but the flavor is so much better with butter, plus the milk and the egg yolk – mm! Your recipe is, frankly, perfection.”

Joanne Chang smiles and starts cutting up peaches.

By the end of the evening, they’ve finished six pies, a batch of cinnamon rolls, a batch of Flour’s famous homemade Pop-Tarts, and a few batches of focaccia. As they stack most of it with everything else ready to be sold tomorrow – sold! to paying customers! at Flour Bakery! – Joanne Chang tells him he isn’t right for the internship. How about a real full time job, with regular hours and better pay and a white chef coat with _Bitty_ stitched on the breast pocket?

Eric can’t remember walking back to the car, doesn’t trust himself to start driving yet. His fingertips are buzzing as he pulls up his message history with Shitty and starts writing.

 

_Remember when you had the AUDACITY to tell JOANNE CHANG I make better pies than she does?_

_HAHAHA you got the internship, right?_

_I got a JOB. Like indefinite steady employment. Can I crash at yours tonight?_

_Yes bro! Mi casa es su casa._

_I have baked goods._

_YES BRO!!!_

 

* * *

 

Eric doesn’t sleep that night. First Shitty takes him out for a celebratory drink, which turns into three celebratory drinks – and three celebratory shots on top of that. When Shitty passes out, Eric spends the rest of the night baking mini-pies, browsing for apartments near the bakery, booking his flight back from Madison, writing to his mom to explain that his visit will be even shorter than they thought. It’s so weird – or maybe just weird how it _isn’t_  weird – that he won’t be “going home” to Madison anymore. He’ll be visiting his parents. He’s made his own home at Samwell, and soon he’s going to do it again in Boston.

At six, he takes a shower in the pale morning light, changes into fresh clothes, and packs up most of the pies to bring back to the Haus for friends and family during graduation weekend. He’s slinging his bag over his shoulder and doing a phone/keys/wallet check when a key turns in the lock of the front door, the sound echoing in the silent room.

Eric jumps in front of the door and raises the heavy glass baking dish, ready to throw it at whoever’s opening the door, though it’s unlikely anyone who has a key to Shitty’s apartment deserves a bunch of pies to the face.

“Jack!” Eric relaxes as he recognizes his face, flushed pink and damp, wearing a hoodie and an extremely small pair of running shorts. Eric forces himself to look away, but honestly – shouldn’t someone tell him he’s outgrown those shorts?

“Bittle!” he says, and they both continue right on top of each other: “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying with Shitty for the weekend,” Jack says, hiking his duffle bag higher on his shoulder.

“It’s 6:30 on Thursday morning.”

“I’m a little early. I just figured, if I’m just going for a run, why not do it in Boston? When Shitty wakes up, we’ll go out for breakfast.”

If that doesn’t sound like the most wonderful thing.... Eric is struck by a desire to stay and talk to Jack and make them all breakfast so strong his body drifts back into the apartment.

But the clock on the cable box tells him it’s actually 6:38 now and he’s about to be late to the airport.

“I have to go! But there are mini-pies on the counter. You can start with that for breakfast, then figure out your protein when Shitty gets up. You might be waiting a while. I kept him up pretty late last night.”

Jack laughs, brightening up his whole face. Eric grins back at him.

“Thanks for the provisions.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, Jack. It’s great to see you.”

Eric squeezes Jack’s shoulder. Jack mumbles something as Eric slips past him and hurries down the hall. As he turns to start down the stairs, he looks back and sees Jack watching him, still smiling. Eric waves. Jack waves back.

The traffic getting to Logan isn’t too bad, but Eric still runs from short-term parking to get inside before Connor arrives. There’s nothing like seeing someone waiting for you at the end of the arrival escalators. Connor comes running down the stairs when he notices Eric waving, and jumps into his arms. Despite Connor being almost half a foot taller, Eric is pretty built now, if he says so himself, and can hold up his boyfriend just fine.

Connor chatters about San Francisco while they wait for his bag and walk back to the car, but once they’re driving back to Samwell he says, “Sorry! I’ll probably keep going on about this forever if you let me. What’s been happening around here?”

Eric tells him the whole story, about going from introduction to job offer in less than a day.

“Wait a minute,” Connor says, staring straight ahead at the road, “you already accepted the job?”

“Are you kidding? Like I was going to tell Joanne Chang I needed a few days to think about it.”

“Well, I figured you would need a few days, Eric.”

“It’s Flour Bakery!”

“It’s in Boston!”

“It – yeah?”

“It’s three thousand miles from San Francisco.”

“It—!” Eric sighs, deflating. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about that, it’s just that he’s been _trying_ not to think about that. “Yeah, I know it is.”

“You’re really not coming to California.”

“Connor—”

“Were you ever even considering it?”

“Connor! Over half the applications I’ve sent out were for positions in San Francisco. I didn’t do that for my health. But one of the best bakers in the country wants to work with me. I can’t turn down that opportunity.”

Connor exhales slowly. “And it’s not forever, right? Of course you couldn’t turn it down.”

Eric is quiet for a moment before, “Joanne Chang!” bursts out of him.

Finally, _finally_ , Connor gives him a real smile and grabs Eric’s hand. “I can’t believe it – the woman who converted you to all-butter pie crust. That’s insane, Eric, amazing. Amazing! You make the best pie I’ve ever had, so I’m not surprised, but—”

“The kitchen is so amazing! The _ovens_ – no disrespect to Betsy, Jr. who is the greatest oven on earth – but in a much more literal way, these ovens are the _greatest on this earth_.”

 

* * *

 

Graduation comes in the blink of an eye after that. He packs up his room, decides what to leave in the kitchen so Dex isn’t starting from scratch next year, says goodbye to Faber and all his favorite spots on campus, gets a haircut, and then it’s the day. After the ceremony, there’s a swarm of bodies all over the quad, everyone hugging and crying. He finds the team before he finds his parents. His frogs are the first to tackle-hug him, then Ransom and Holster, then Lardo.

“And look who it is!” Shitty throws his arm around Jack’s and pulls him forward.

“You really came!”

“Hi, Bittle.”

“JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN,” Shitty bellows. “He’s staying with me the whole weekend!”

“Also exciting,” Lardo says, “Bitty just graduated.”

Shitty lifts Eric into his arms and spins him around, bellowing, “ERIC RICHARD BITTLE,” even louder than before, or maybe it just sounds that way so close to Eric’s ear.

“Thank y’all so much for making it,” Eric says. Lardo’s in her first year of the MFA program at Yale and has final pieces due every day next week. Harvard Medical gives Ransom a two-week summer break that hasn’t started yet, and Holster has a playoff game in eight hours. None of them have the time to watch him walk across a stage. And yet—

“How could we miss this?” Ransom says.

“And who needs sleep anyway, right?” says Holster.

Jack frowns at him. “Hockey players do.”

Everyone cracks up which only makes Jack frown more. Ransom pats Jack on the chest. “I’ll have him home in time for his nap.”

Familiar arms wrap around Eric’s shoulders and he turns around to hug Connor properly.

“I’m glad you guys are all so tall,” Connor says, “or I’d never find Eric in a crowd.”

Connor goes through the hug cycle until he reaches Jack, who he’s never met before and doesn’t give off big touchy vibes, anyway. Eric steps forward.

“Jack, this is my boyfriend, Connor. Con, this is Jack.”

“Oh, I know all about you,” Connor says, narrowing his eyes, sounding like an old west sheriff addressing the outlaw Jack Zimmermann.

Jack doesn’t flinch. “It’s nice to meet you, Connor.”

“Nice of you to show up.”

“No, no—” Eric starts, but Jack shakes his head.

“No, he’s right. I’m lucky to be here.”

“We’re all lucky to share such a _pleasant day_ together,” Eric says, staring Connor down. Connor stares right back at him. Eric catches a flash of bright red that can only be Connor’s mother’s hat and he points her out, relieved. “Oh, look, your parents!”

Connor rolls his eyes at Eric’s obvious distraction, but allows himself to be distracted, smacking a kiss to Eric’s mouth and running over to meet his family. Jack has already drifted a few feet away, circled by a group of balding men in pastel polos, shaking each of their hands.

“I’m gonna just save him from the – yeah.”

Eric doesn’t appreciate the looks everyone gives him as he heads for Jack, but he doesn’t have time to chirp them back right now. He excuses Jack from his fan club and pulls him into a little bubble of privacy in the crowd.

“Jack, about what Connor said. He doesn’t know _all_ about you. He doesn’t know—”

“It’s okay, Bittle.”

“No, this is important to me. He doesn’t know anything that happened at the party last year. I wouldn’t out you like that, not even to someone I trust as much as Connor.”

“That’s really kind, Bittle, thank you. It’s okay if you want to tell him, though. It would probably make a good joke at this point, right?”

A _joke?_ “No!”

Connor calls his name. Eric turns to see he’s with Eric’s parents, too, now, and they’re all beckoning him over. Eric holds up one finger – he’ll be just a minute. But by the time he looks back, Jack is gone again, walking back toward the team, quickly swallowed by people. He glances back at Eric and gestures him away, trying to smile. Crap. Fine. Eric starts jogging over to Connor. He’ll talk to Jack later.

Or things will just be weird and terrible between them for another year or so. Or for the rest of their lives, maybe. That possibility doesn’t seem any more appealing this time around.

After lunch with their parents, Eric and Connor go back to the Haus to pack up the last of Eric’s things into his storage pod. Shitty and Lardo are sitting on the lawn couch, absolutely _not_ holding hands, as they’ve explained before. Shitty is massaging her hands, necessary and practical.

“Where’s Jack?”

“He took the frogs out to lunch,” Lardo says, sounding as pleased as Shitty about their prodigal son, in her own quiet way.

“Then he’s going to help set up the party tonight,” Shitty adds, “but he said he’s probably not going to stick around for the actual party.”

“Did he say why?”

Shitty shrugs. “You know it’s not his thing.”

“Good riddance,” Connor says.

Eric snaps. “Would you let Jack off the hook, please?”

“No.”

“Honey, he doesn’t deserve—”

Connor pulls him close and speaks quietly: “He was your best friend who you were in love with for months before he got famous and stopped talking to you.”

“And now he’s making an effort and it’s my choice to forgive him and move on.”

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Yes, he does. And, actually, it doesn’t matter one bit whether he deserves it or not. I still get to forgive him if I want to. But he _does_. He’s such a good person. You don’t know him. And you never will if you keep treating him like this!”

Connor sighs, pets Eric’s hair. “You’re the good person. And he’s not even here to let off the hook, so let’s figure this out the next time he is.”

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

After graduation, Eric spends a weekend with Connor’s family in the Hamptons, a week with his own family back in Madison, and then he moves into his very own studio apartment in South Boston.

“I can’t believe this is fifteen hundred a month,” Connor says when Eric shows him the place, all four hundred square feet of it.

But he’s smiling, genuinely happy for him, so Eric chooses not to mention how much a place like this would go for in San Francisco.

The whole studio is smaller than the Haus kitchen, but it’s in a big Victorian building that’s been well-maintained: tall ceilings, hardwood floors, a working fireplace, and huge west-facing bay windows. The kitchen leaves a lot to be desired, but it has a gas oven and a surprising amount of cabinet space. Eric inherits a few great Craftsman pieces from his Moomaw, gets a new queen mattress and nice sheets as his graduation present from his parents, and fills in the rest with IKEA. He and Connor paint the walls and hang some art, including a Larissa Duan original that takes up an entire wall. They go to the SoWa Open Market for curtains, and rugs, and plants. Eric drapes Jack’s buffalo check blanket over the back of the sofa.

It’s a twenty-minute walk to work, which will be less fun come winter, but right now he loves it. His shifts start at five in the morning, when the streets are mostly empty and still, but he shares this quiet world with people opening coffee shops and stocking newspaper dispensers, people running with their dogs, and hurrying into the subway, a woman who owns a flower stand, and a man who unloads crates of fish into Foodie’s. Plus, he gets a little bit of cardio, and tries to listen to a new album every day.

Working in a professional kitchen is no cakewalk (pun intended, always), but he loves that too, so far. It’s hard, fast-paced work, almost nonstop, but that’s the only way Eric’s ever gotten anything done. The other bakers are all women, and amazing, and he’s learning so much from them.

Life is good. But he can’t deny life gets a little better one day in June.

Eric doesn’t expect to hear from Jack again. Or at least he tries not to, even when they start texting a little. He’s gave up hope that they could still be friends, _real_ friends, a long time ago. Then one day, not long after Eric starts his job, Jack walks into Flour and orders a slice of pie and a cup of coffee.

Eric catches sight of him through the kitchen window that looks out into the front of the house and shouts, “Jack!” before he can stop himself. Then he's running into the café, hands covered in cinnamon sugar. “Of all the pie joints in all the world.”

Jack smiles that sweet, slow smile of his. “Hi, Bittle.”

“Are you meeting Shitty?”

“How did you guess?”

“He comes in every Sunday around now.”

“I’m staying with him for the weekend,” Jack says. That was twice in a month! Shitty had to be over the moon. “Ransom and Holster are meeting us, too.”

“Wow! The whole gang.” Eric blinks and realizes his eyes have filled with tears. He’s heard Shitty, Ransom, and Holster say they missed Jack so many times over the past couple years. That Jack has come all this way just to eat pie with them— “That’s wonderful, Jack, just really – welcome to Flour.”

“I hear the bakers are really talented here. Best in the county.”

“Not Canada, too?”

Jack shakes his head seriously, keeping a straight face for barely a full second before bursting out laughing. “Congratulations on the job, Bittle.”

“Did you order the maple sugar crusted apple? It’s new on the menu.”

“I recognized your latticework in the display case.”

And here come more tears. Eric grabs a napkin out of the dispenser. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Do you have a break coming up, maybe?”

“Oh! Um – no, not really.” Bakers at Flour are encouraged to take breaks whenever they want, but so far that’s meant Eric not taking any breaks at all. It’s only his fifteenth shift and he doesn’t want to come off as lazy or ungrateful.

Eric turns at a touch on his arm to see his manager smiling at him. “Eric, you know we’re just prepping for tomorrow morning. Why don’t you get those rolls in the fridge and then take some time with your friend? You can stay a little longer at the end of your shift if you really want to.”

Eric lunges to hug her. “Thank you, Kara!”

He ends up taking a three-hour break, more time than he’s gotten with his best friends in months, and staying almost four hours late to make up for it.

He also ends up forgetting that Connor’s arriving from New York that afternoon until he checks his phone when he finally leaves the bakery, and scrolls through a long line of text notifications. Eric rushes home, but it’s too little too late. There’s a wilted salad on the kitchen counter and Connor is asleep on the couch, cuddled up with an empty bottle of very nice red wine.

When Eric has to admit it was seeing Jack that made him late, he can tell it’s like rubbing salt in the wound. Sometimes he wishes he never told Connor about being in love with Jack. Surely he wouldn’t have such a problem if Jack was just Eric’s old friend and captain. But that would have made every story he told about his first two years at Samwell feel like a lie. Loving Jack underscored everything he thought and did back then.

For his part, Eric tries to be zen about it. Maybe it was just a nice afternoon and he won’t see Jack again for weeks, or years. That’s okay.

But a week later Jack texts him, _When’s your shift over?_

Eric tells him he’s off at two and Jack immediately replies, _Reservation for 5 at 2 PM then please._ Eric grins and makes sure to tell Connor about his plans right away.

After that, Jack’s visits become part of his routine. Every other week or so Jack stays in Boston with Shitty and they come in at the end of Eric’s shift and eat Eric’s favorite goodies of the day, and drink way more coffee than is advisable for so late in the afternoon. Eric’s always wired for hours after they go their separate ways.

At the end of July, Connor suggests, “Maybe I should come sometimes.”

“Oh! You – I mean, yeah.”

“You don’t want me there?”

“It’s just – no one else brings their SO.”

“Ransom and Holster are—”

“I still don’t know that for sure!”

“And you said Lardo came last time.”

“Well, she’s—” Connor sighs and turns away from him. “It’s my old Hausmates, Con. It’s my team.”

“I get it.” And maybe he does, but getting it clearly only makes Connor feel worse.

“Do you want – why don’t I invite Jack and Shitty over for dinner next week?”

Connor has to think about that for moment, but eventually a grin spreads across his face. “Yeah. Yeah! We’ll host a little dinner party.”

Eric comes home that Friday to find Connor has gone full on Martha Stewart. He had the apartment professionally cleaned. He put fresh flowers everywhere, mixing a bright, fresh smell with the savory cheesiness of the risotto he was diligently stirring on the stove. He lit candles. He made a platter of Jell-O shots that looked like little slices of watermelon. He folded cloth napkins into swans. Well – more Martha Stewart meets gym bunny. Connor has clearly let himself get dehydrated to make his muscles stand out. Eric doesn’t approve, but he can’t deny that Connor’s shirt sleeves have never fit over his biceps so nicely.

When Jack arrives, Eric really wishes Connor hadn’t bothered. Jack’s been in good shape as long as Eric’s known him, but the NHL had him pulsing with vitality. He looks like Superman. In fact, he was photographed next to Henry Cavill at an event last year and he came off like Superman’s more successful younger brother. You can see Jack’s biceps flex through his jacket as he holds out a bouquet of pink and yellow dahlias. Connor has to put them in one of those big souvenir cups from the Cineplex because every other reasonably sized receptacle in Eric’s apartment already has flowers in it.

So there are a few hiccups—

(“This risotto is amazing, Bits!” Jack says.

“Oh, this is all Connor.”

“I called Eric’s mom for the recipe, though.”

This may not sound too awkward, but the way Jack’s smile strains as the truth is revealed is absolutely excruciating. The only silver lining is that Connor isn’t fluent in Jack Zimmermann micro expressions and doesn’t seem to notice.)

—but overall, it’s a perfect evening. Shitty is superlative social lubricant, as always. Jack seems pleased that Connor can keep up with the hockey talk. Connor seems pleased that Jack’s read a few Mary Roach books and has some interesting things to say about the medical industry.

After dinner they all go out to a little local dive, and stay out until last call, getting pretty drunk and monopolizing a pool table. Once they get Jack and Shitty safely into a cab home and they’ve got the apartment to themselves again, Connor tells him, “Okay, Jack’s pretty great. I can’t blame you for falling for a straight guy like _that_ back in the day,” not a hint of jealousy in his voice and for a moment Eric thinks maybe they can all be real friends now.

The he ruins it immediately by saying, “Oh, Jack’s not straight.”

Actually, maybe that would have been okay. But stupid happy-drunk Eric keeps going. He starts washing the dishes and talking about the playoff party last year, when it came out Jack fell for Eric back then, too. And maybe-probably wasn’t totally over it.

Last year he wasn’t!

“Obviously he moved on,” Eric says as he finishes up, scrubbing down the sink, “Doesn’t he seem just – really happy? He’s luminous!”

Eric turns to Connor. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “Are you okay, honey? Are you gonna puke?”

“No, I’m not going to puke! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you—?”

“Jack!”

“—about Jack having a crush on me? I just told you!”

“Back then why didn’t you? That’s a – that’s huge, Eric, I would have thought you’d call me right after it happened!”

“I didn’t – it wasn’t a big deal.”

But of course, it had been a big deal, no matter how casually he can play it off now.

It was March of Eric’s junior year – a year and a half ago now, Jesus. That felt too long past and too recent at once. The Samwell men’s hockey team had just made the playoffs and they pulled off a last-minute kegster to make Ransom and Holster proud. Holster was on a roadie and Ransom had a midterm the next day, so they couldn’t be there to see it, but Jack surprised them all by showing up at the Haus that night with Shitty. Eric watched proudly as he made his way around the party, posing for selfies with every star struck tadpole and catching up with each of his old teammates. Eventually Eric thought he’d earned a break and pulled him outside. It was an unusually warm night, almost fifty degrees, and Jack laughed when Eric threw a Frisbee at him, reflective tape glinting under the light of the streetlamps. “TiK ToK” started playing to a burst of cheers inside.

They texted every day, tried to call once a week, but Eric hadn’t seen Jack in person in months. They had spent exactly five days in each other’s company since Jack’s graduation. Eric had missed him like crazy, especially at the beginning, but he realized he needed the space, the literal distance between them, to have any chance of moving on. Jack probably knew that, too, Eric thought in his more despairing moments. He had probably decided to keep away until little Bitty got over his little crush.

And, at last, he had.

He was sure of it now, because Jack was right here in front of him and Eric kept getting distracted wondering how Connor was doing at his cousin’s wedding in Connecticut.

“I’m finally over you!” Eric howled into the night, flinging the Frisbee back to Jack.

Jack blinked at him, catching the disk flat on his belly. “Over me?”

“Yessir! Lord, for a minute there I thought it would never happen, but – I wish Connor could have come tonight. I think you’ll really like him. His eyes are almost as blue as yours, you know that? Throw it back!”

Jack dropped the Frisbee on the ground instead, and strode straight to Eric until they were practically chest-to-chest in the middle of the front lawn.

“You were – into me?”

“Like you didn’t know!” Eric tried to laugh. “I think satellites in space picked up on that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, that’s—” Jack looked so damn sad and confused about it, like Eric had altered the very fabric of the universe. “That’s probably for the best, isn’t it? I’m sorry I mentioned it, Jack. It isn’t even relevant anymore. I’m over it!”

“No. It – no.”

“No?”

“I was into you, too.”

For a moment, the world was silent. Then “TiK ToK” started playing inside the Haus for the second time in a row, to more cheering.

Jack wasn’t straight?

Jack had been into him?

“You were not!”

“Yes, I was. _Merde_ , yes, I really was. I – I still am.”

Something twisted in Eric’s chest making it hard to breathe. “Jack,” he gasped.

“Bitty—”

“No, no, you’re not. It’s been months since we even—”

“What’s months? You really – you’re over it?”

“Jack.”

Jack let out a ragged breath and reached his hand to Eric’s face, hovering for a moment before cupping Eric’s jaw so, so gently.

“I want to kiss you so bad, Bitty,” Jack said softly. “Right now. All night. I’ve wanted to kiss you so many times. But I thought you didn’t want me to and that was – that was bad enough, but to know you _did_ want me to kiss you, and now you _don’t_ – do you?”

And the truth was, in that moment, he did want Jack to kiss him. How could he not? Jack’s nose was a little sunburnt, and his hair was overlong and falling into his eyes, and he smelled so good – lord, Eric had catalogued every detail, just like he always had. He’d imagined this scenario hundreds of times. And they were standing under the stars and Jack was basically serenading him here – Jack _wanted_ him, after all this time. Eric hadn’t been alone in it. They had been falling in love with each other.

And Eric was drunk. And Eric had only been dating Connor a few weeks and he wasn’t so much _over_ Jack as he could see a way out. After a dozen dates he could only describe by how they compared to Jack, finally there was someone handsome and funny and sweet who made him stop thinking about Jack completely, for a minute, an hour, a whole evening. He wasn’t out of love with Jack, and he wasn’t in love with Connor, not yet, but for the first time in a long time, he felt really good, all by himself, self-sufficient with limitless possibilities in front of him.

That’s what made him say it, more than anything. He didn’t want to give that up.

“No,” Eric said. “I don’t.”

Jack jerked his hand away from Eric’s face. “Right. Silly question. Okay.”

He looked around for a moment, then turned and started walking away from the Haus.

“Jack, wait, you shouldn’t leave!”

“I have to.”

“No, no, Jack—”

Eric ran and grabbed him by the arm. Jack stared at Eric’s hand for a moment and lightly covered it with his own hand before meeting Eric’s gaze.

“Bitty, please – let a man tend to his broken heart in peace, eh?” Jack backed away from him and Eric let him go, his hand falling off Jack’s arm numbly. Jack managed the barest parting smile. “Good luck in the playoffs.”

Broken heart. He had broken Jack’s heart.

Eric went straight upstairs and cried himself to sleep. That’s why he didn’t call Connor that night. By morning it he realized it wasn’t his secret to tell. Even if it were, though, it felt too personal, too significant an encounter, to share with anyone else.

Until tonight, apparently. And Jack _had_ given him permission to tell Connor about it, but—

“Lord, I can’t believe I—” Eric has a pounding headache, out of nowhere, like he’s awake to feel his hangover set in. He covers his eyes with his forearm to block the fluorescent light of the kitchen. “Connor, promise me you won’t tell anyone about Jack being – not straight.”

“That’s what you can’t believe? Not that you waited so long, but that you told me at all? Jesus Christ, Eric! Jesus – I know I can’t tell anyone. I would never do that. You really think I would do that?”

“No! I mean, but it’s different for someone in Jack’s position and—”

“I _know_ that – hold on,” Connor interrupts himself, eyes widening like he’s realizing something, “is that why Jack stopped talking to you? Because you rejected him?”

“He—” Eric takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

Connor doesn’t say anything else. He just grabs his jacket and marches out of the apartment. The firm, silent way he shuts the door is worse than if he slammed it. Eric tries to wait up for him, but it’s way past his bedtime, and he falls asleep before he comes home.

The next morning Connor wakes him up with kisses. Some pretty spectacular sex follows, and a lot of hickeys, one of them right under his jaw, impossible to hide, and still glaringly obvious at his usual get-together with the boys a few days later. Shitty, Ransom, and Holster chirp him to high heaven. Jack is quiet, but Eric feels his gaze keep drawing back to the mark. Mission successful, Eric wants to tell Connor, but he doesn’t.

In fact, they never mention it again. Connor doesn’t let up on the hickeys and Eric lets it go, or mostly doesn’t think about it. If his last semester went fast, the summer passes at light speed. Eric has never been busier, or more satisfied with everything in his life. But now it’s the end of August and Connor is picking up every trace of himself from Eric’s apartment and packing it into a suitcase. Tomorrow he goes to San Francisco, but tonight he’s not leaving Eric’s bed.

When they started dating their first couple _thing_ was to take naps. Connor had been abroad in Italy during room draw the year before, so he was stuck in a quad with randomly selected roommates. Eric’s single in the Haus was a great luxury. They figured out quickly that trying to study or spend the night in there meant getting too distracted to finish much homework, or to sleep, but it was ideal for curling up in between classes and just being warm and relaxed and _together._

Eric sighs happily and snuggles deeper into the crook of Connor’s arm. “I’m gonna miss this so much. Especially when the weather starts cooling down in a few months.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure _Jack_ would be more than happy to keep you warm.”

Eric jerks up to look Connor in the face, shocked to hear Jack’s name after a month of avoiding it, shocked that Connor is still so jealous.

“Connor—” Eric starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. Connor’s eyes are like ice looking back at him. “I’d never ask him to.”

“I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”

Slowly, the ice melts and Eric can breathe again. He settles back against Connor’s body, cautiously.

“And Jack has no interest in keeping me warm, either.”

Yet they’re cuddling under a blanket Jack used to share with Eric, given to him literally to keep him warm. Jesus, maybe this is why people say you can’t be friends with your exes. Not that Jack is his ex. Is that worse?

“I know that’s what you think,” Connor says, “but I’m pretty sure you’re not that easy to get over, Eric.”

There’s a familiar twisting in his chest, a tangle of more than one emotion. There’s pleasure that Connor thinks so highly of him. There’s empathy that Jack might still be pining for him, wild as it still is to think that Jack ever was pining. And there’s – gosh, Eric is ashamed of this – there’s a little _more_ pleasure, too, to imagine that any part of Jack still loves him because there’s a part of Eric that will never stop loving Jack – as a friend, as more than a friend – it’s hard to tell the difference.

But Connor won’t understand that – and why should he? Eric would hate it if Connor told him he’d never totally get over an old flame, too – so Eric just stretches up to kiss him and says, “You don’t need to worry about that, honey.”

Connor’s pulls him into another kiss.

“I’m just going to miss the hell out of you,” Connor says, later. “I wish you were—” All Eric has to do is open his mouth this time and Connor’s interrupting himself with another, “I’m sorry. I know.”

He _should_ know, by now. Eric has apologized for turning them into a long-distance relationship dozens of times at this point. He’s never apologized for being friends with Jack, but – well, he’s simply not sorry about that. He’s sorry their friendship makes Connor uncomfortable, but that’s the worst kind of fake apology. _I’m sorry you’re making this awkward with your feelings_. Eric would never say that. He’s just going to wait patiently for Connor to stop finding Jack so threatening.

He isn’t surprised when Connor latches onto his throat during their last lazy afternoon cuddle before he leaves. This is the last chance he’ll have to mark Eric up for a long time. When Eric gets home from work tomorrow, Connor will be on his way to Buffalo, the first stop on his road trip across the country. Eric runs his hands through Connor’s curls and presses a few kisses to his head while Connor sucks on his neck.

Then tomorrow is Sunday and Eric gets to see his boys, and then next week they’re all driving to Providence to celebrate Jack’s last physical therapy appointment for his knee, and Eric can’t help but feel better. His boyfriend’s moving away, and Eric still never remembers to take a lunch break at work, and he doesn’t have a dishwasher, but life is good.

 

* * *

 

The hundred and first season of the NHL brings two distinct changes to Jack’s career.

The first change is that he becomes something of a media darling.

Eric doesn’t keep track of Jack’s press because not long ago it just made him angry – “love to see him fail” indeed – so he first notices the change in December when he happens upon a _USA TODAY_ headline that calls back to a vintage meme: “Damn Zimmboni, back at it again with the good works.” It’s a twenty-item listicle of Jack at various volunteer events over the past six months. Eric can’t decide between the final three items to share on his Connext:

 

> _3\. The cutest event had to be when Jack organized a reunion with, count ‘em,_ eight _of his former teammates from the Samwell University men’s hockey team – including Adam Birkholtz of the Boston Bruins – preparing meals at the Ronald Mcdonald House of Providence._

 

with a picture of Jack, Eric, Shitty, Ransom, Holster, Chowder, Dex, Nursey, and Johnson posing in hairnets, holding up vats of macaroni and cheese.

> _2\. No, actually this was the cutest: Zimmboni and Birker inspired most of their respective teams to put aside their rivalry and join in gardening at Fort Point Channel Parks for The Rose Kennedy Greenway._

 

with a picture of two dozen enormous men holding rakes and shovels at the park half a mile from Eric’s bakery.

> _1\. No, for real this time, this was the cutest:_

 

with a 15-second video of Jack being overrun with wriggling puppies that’s embedded from Eric’s own Connext account.

Jack has a huge, natural grin on his face in all the photos. Not long ago you would have been hard-pressed to find half as many shots of Jack looking so happy in public, not that any reporter would have cared to look. Now, between weekly charity work and never turning down a selfie request, there’s a constant stream of them.

A few months later, the _Providence Journal_ publishes a front-page profile on Jack, and what they coin “the Zimmermann Effect.” Jack volunteers at a wide variety of nonprofits and he spends the week after talking about them on his social media accounts. “I finally get the point of tweeting,” Jack tells him, and Eric doesn’t know how to explain that a) Jack isn’t using Twitter, and b) enhancing the visibility of worthy causes isn’t how most people use their social influence. But that’s what Jack does, and after he does it, the nonprofits see a remarkable increase in their donation and volunteer numbers: the Zimmermann Effect. It’s not like it’s unusual to see sports stars’ names connected with good causes, but most throw their money and name at them, not their own free time and elbow grease. It’s inspiring to watch Jack Zimmermann do what any normal person can spend their afternoon doing to help the community.

“You were raised in Montreal and now live here in Providence, yet you spend quite a few volunteer hours in Boston. Why is that?” the _Journal_ asked Jack.

“Well, it’s the sixth largest city in the country,” Jack explained, “so contributing to communities here has a lot of reverberation. But, honestly, a lot of my best friends live in the area. I like to visit. Plus, I get to stop in at Flour Bakery for a slice of pie.”

(Flour gets their own taste of the Zimmermann effect from that one, and Eric gets ruthlessly chirped about it by basically everyone he knows.)

For the first time since he was a baby, Jack is easy to love, and easy to write about. Eric’s known that for years, but he’s so damn proud that the rest of the world has caught up to that fact he could burst.

Well, most of the rest of the world. If anything, Jack’s charity work seems to get under Connor’s skin more than ever. One night in February, Eric and Shitty go to a Falcs game, and then Jack comes back to Boston with them to spend his day off tomorrow. The Falconers had a shutout game against the Sabres, so it’s hard to be in a bad mood, but – “Damn, I’m officially late to video chat with Connor,” he says as Shitty makes his way through crawling traffic to drop Eric off at home.

“Sorry, Bits,” Shitty says.

“Please, it’s not your fault everyone’s wants to be to Boston tonight.”

Honestly, it was close to eleven on a Monday. What were so many people doing on the road?

 

_Stuck in traffic, but I’ll be home in 20m or less!_

_Thanks for the advance notice. I’m taking a shower._

 

Eric replies with a little string of emojis, trying to say _sorry/thank you/love you/miss your wet naked body_ , and doesn’t get anything back. It’s more like thirty minutes by the time Shitty pulls up in front of Eric’s building.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Jack says as Eric hops out of the car.

“If you promise to take some day-old cupcakes when you leave. They sent me home with _all_ of them yesterday.”

Jack lets out a loud, put-upon sigh. “Fine, fine, I’ll pay the toll.”

“ _Yeah_ , he will,” Shitty says cheerfully. “I’ll circle the block!”

Upstairs, Jack goes to the bathroom and Eric sits at the kitchen table, opens up his laptop, and texts Connor.

Almost immediately a video call starts ringing on the screen. Eric gets a look at himself and – whoops! – wearing this jersey is sure to get their conversation off to a bad start. It’s a #7, to tease Jack and ensure he gets a hug from Tater every time he sees him, but Connor won't get the distinction. Eric pulls it off as he accepts the call, taking his undershirt halfway off with it.

“Hey, babe. Nice view,” Connor says, gesturing to his exposed belly. Eric tugs the undershirt down. “Nope, wrong way. Take it off!”

Eric’s blushing a little now. “Oh, fine.”

He pulls the shirt over his head without any finesse, and fingers his hair back in order. He isn’t as toned as he was this time last year, at the end of the season, but he still looks pretty good.

Connor grins. “It’s also nice to see your face.”

“Yours, too, honey. But you look exhausted.”

“What a sweet talker.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Definitely not.”

There’s a crash, and Eric spins around to see Jack righting the chair Eric uses to hold clothes that don’t quite belong in the laundry basket yet, and rubbing his knee.

“Are you alright?”

“Nothing. What? Yes, I’m fine.” Jack reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “You have a birthmark on your hip.”

“Oh!” Eric looks down and scratches at the little red mark. He’s had it since he was a baby. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jack licks his lips, staring at Eric’s lap. After a moment, he shakes himself out of it. “Sorry. Okay, bye,” he says, walking wide around the back of Eric’s laptop.

“Bye,” Eric says, waving. Then he catches sight of the huge blue pastry box on his kitchen counter. “Wait! Take cupcakes!”

Jack rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Give them away if you want.” Jack huffs, but gives in. He opens the box and Eric expects him to take out a couple for himself and Shitty, but instead he removes one, sets it on the counter, and tucks the box of the rest under his arm. Eric beams at him. “Thank you! See you tomorrow!”

Looking back at his computer screen, Eric stands up and tries to angle himself so the camera catches his birthmark. “Tell me, future doctor, is this cancerous?”

“No,” Connor says shortly. Eric sits back down. “Who was that?”

“The boys heading back to Shitty’s,” Eric says, barely lying – Shitty might as well have been in the apartment. “The boys” is a recognized euphemism for _Jack_ at this point, but it’s still better than saying Jack’s name directly.

“He should give the cupcakes away to the homeless,” Connor says. “Good photo op.”

Eric is ready to say that Jack does keep little packs for homeless people in his car – water, protein bars, socks, wet wipes, and a toothbrush – but now is not the time. It will probably never be the time.

So Eric just smiles. “You had a checkpoint today, right? How did that go?”

“No, it’s tomorrow. But it’s—” Connor groans and rubs his eyes, leaning so close to the computer screen he goes out of focus and muffled. “I think they’re genuinely trying to be like – _supportive_ with these tests every week, but – Eric, it’s so hard! I thought I was so smart in college. I could just cram for a couple days before the big tests, and end up top of the class. Here, it’s like cramming for a couple days _every day_ and I’m, like – I’m hanging on?”

“You’re doing amazing, Con. You—”

“You don’t know that! You’re not here. You have no idea what this is like.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Not everyone is cut out to be a doctor. Not everyone can do this.”

“Do you still want it?”

Connor closes his eyes breathes for a few seconds. “Yes.”

“Then you are going to do it. Connor, you are one of the smartest, most disciplined, most tenacious people I’ve ever known. So you’re now surrounded by people who are even smarter than you are? They’re going to make you better. They’re your team. Trust them, trust your teachers. You can do this.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, nodding slowly. “Yeah! Thanks, captain. What did you do today?”

“Um – Shitty and I drove down to Providence and went to a game.”

“Okay. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Brunch in the morning, then the boys and I are doing this youth skating program with the Epilepsy Foundation of New England. We’re—”

“Tell me one thing in your life that doesn’t have to do with Jack Zimmermann.”

This isn’t the first time Connor’s asked that, but it’s no easier to hear tonight. “Con, that’s not fair,” Eric says quietly. “He’s my friend. He’s friends with all my friends.”

“Please?”

And Connor looks so exhausted, and it’s not like it’s hard to come up with something, so Eric lets it go.

“I had a performance review at work this week, with Kara  _and_ Joanne. It’s been nine months since I started, can you believe that?”

“I can believe it’s been six since I started school. Could they muster up any critique?”

“ _Yes_. I favor perfection too much over speed.”

“Too perfect? That’s your problem?”

“Too _slow_. Or, more often, staying too late to make sure my perfect pastries are ready to be sold the next day. But we talked about some ways to improve and Kara said she’s already noticed a difference.”

“Sounds like you’ll have a great recommendation when you apply to your next job.”

Oh, like a job in San Francisco? As soon as possible? Eric grits his teeth. They only get to video chat once or twice a week. He doesn’t want to spend their time together fighting.

“Yeah, Kara’s the best. So have you been assigned an infectious disease yet?

“Meningitis!” Connor says, and they move on.

 

* * *

 

The second change to Jack’s career is that he becomes the first NHL player to publicly come out as gay.

He does it at a media scrum without a plan and without warning anybody. It’s after an incredible game. The Falconers don’t get a point on the board until third period, and then Jack gets a natural hat trick, tying it up 3-3. Tater cinches their win fourteen seconds into overtime, but the media barely glance at him or anyone else in the locker room afterwards. Every microphone is pointed at Jack. Once they exhaust questions about the game and the season, one of them takes a personal turn: “Everyone’s talking about how you seem a lot happier lately. Can you give us any insight into that?”

Jack is quiet for a long moment before he pushes his sweaty hair off his forehead and says, “Well, I’m gay.”

You could hear a pin drop. Then the room explodes with echoing whispers and camera flashes. “Are you saying there’s a boyfriend who’s making you so happy?” the reporter asks, voice rising above the din, and the room goes silent again to hear his response.

“No, I’m as single as you all thought I was.” That gets a little laugh from the reporters and Jack quirks a smile. “I’ve just been working on accepting the way things are. On the ice, I’ve always felt – in control. There are no guarantees when you’re playing a game, but I can always roll with the punches, keep moving, keep fighting. That’s been a lot harder to do in the rest of my life. The thing is, we’re all in control of our own happiness, given some things we _can’t_ control. For example, my dad’s one of the best hockey players in the history of the sport and I grew up being compared to that. Another example is that I’m gay. And – despite that, because of that, within that fact—” Jack shrugs. “I’m really happy.”

There’s another explosion of questions, but George finally forces her way through the throng, puts her arm around Jack’s shoulders, and helps him escape. Tater jumps in front of the cameras to take Jack’s place and, without missing a beat, starts chattering about Jack's incredible performance on the ice tonight, and what an asset to the team he is.

Even though he’s watching live television and there’s no way Jack can answer his phone right now, Eric calls him just to hear his voice in his voicemail greeting.

“Jack, honey—” Eric’s voice is thick. “I’m so proud of you. You’re a hero. I know this is gonna be hard, I know you might already be regretting what you just did, but never forget how much hearing you say that meant to someone in a small town in the South who thought maybe he really was the only gay boy who ever wanted to play hockey.”

Two hours later Jack calls him back. “Are you awake?”

He shouldn’t be, but he’s been favoriting and reposting #ZimsCanPlay posts on Connext like it’s his job. “Yes! Oh, Jack, you really—”

“I’m downstairs.”

Eric jumps up. “You’re what?”

“After George let me go I got in my car and just – I’m outside your place.”

Eric spares barely a moment for the thought, _Why would he do that?_ before he’s overwhelmed with the need to get to Jack and give him the hug he earned tonight. He flies down four flights of stairs, out the front door, and straight into Jack’s arms.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Jack says into Eric’s hair.

Eric laughs. “I can. You’re the bravest person I know. Always have been.”

Jack smells so fresh and clean and Eric enjoys it for a moment before letting him go and pulling him upstairs. He lights a Duraflame and they curl up in front of the fire with the buffalo check blanket, drinking good Guittard cocoa and snacking on cold cuts.

They talk way, way too late, until Eric decides he’s better off not sleeping at all. He goes for a pre-dawn run with Jack, they each take a shower, and then he takes Jack to work with him for a cup of coffee and a quinoa and tofu salad, one of the only nutritionist-approved items on the menu. Jack leaves before the bakery opens to make it back to Providence in time for practice.

“Seems like Zimmboni might have a boyfriend after all,” Kara teases him.

Eric stomps his foot. “I swear, if a rumor ever starts that Jack is dating me, I will presume each and every one of you guilty until proven innocent and I will—” Lord, it’s annoying how withholding baked goods from bakers has no effect. It’s his only bargaining power. “—pout! Like you’ve never seen!”

His coworkers happily chirp him about it for the rest of the day, but Eric knows they’d never say anything somewhere it might get out. Jack has been a regular for almost a year now and they’re all as helplessly charmed as any other human who’s gotten the chance to get to know him.

Later, though, Kara says, “Be careful if you really don’t want the press to speculate you guys are dating.”

“Be careful like – how?”

“Like never get photographed while one of you is looking at the other.”

“We’re not—!”

“I know you’re not, kiddo! But you look at Jack like—”

“Yeah, I know I do,” Eric moans, dropping his head into his hands. When the Haus saw Jack’s final project for his photography class his senior year, everyone chirped him for how many photos were of Eric, but all Eric noticed was how he was always looking beyond the camera like he was seeing heaven itself. “Connor’s gonna see his every insecurity validated on ESPN, isn’t he?”

Kara pats him on the shoulder.

“If it makes you feel any better, all your college friends look at Jack like that. _I_ probably look at Jack like that. But you’re the only one who’s openly gay.”

And he’s the only one who Connor is dating.

 

* * *

 

The end of the season is a mixed bag for Jack: the Falconers miss out on the semi-finals by one point. But after three strong seasons, Jack is offered another three-year contract, and seven million dollars. Not everyone in the hockey community has been enthusiastic about Jack coming out, but this is undeniable proof that where it counts, his team believes in him.

Eric hoped he might see more of Jack now that the season was over, but Jack goes all in, like always, and packs to stay at Shitty’s for a month straight. Shitty is about to start finals for his last year of law school, and Lardo’s busy with her own finals down at Yale, so Eric’s happy someone will be around to make sure Shitty sleeps and eats green vegetables.

On Tuesday Jack and Eric spend three hours wandering around the Dewey Square Farmers Market. Jack buys fancy maple syrup and Eric plans to come to Shitty’s the next morning to surprise him with a big breakfast before he goes to school.

They take the groceries back to Eric’s and Jack gets ready to meet Holster at the gym. They always invite Eric along, but these days he’s happy to restict his lifting to 50-pound bags of flour. He’s hoping to film a video today, before he loses the nice late morning light, and hopefully get it edited and uploaded today, too. He sits down at the kitchen table and opens his laptop. Before he does anything, he needs to check his email. Long gone are the days he caught new messages the moment a notification popped up on his phone.

Connor’s name stands out in all his unread mail and Eric opens it immediately, but his smile drips off his face as he realizes what it is and opens the first link.

Jack comes up behind him saying, “What’s that?”

“Job opening at a bakery in California.” Jack trips a little and half-falls into the chair next to Eric’s. “Are you okay?”

Jack shakes his head, grimacing, but he’s clearly trying to communicate, _I’m fine_. “I thought – you love your job.”

“No, I do! I love it here. Connor just sends them to me sometimes.” Eric shows Jack the email, a long list of blue links signed off with a winky emoji. “It’s nice of him…” Jack frown deepens. “Well, no, I mean – I think he means it to be nice. He’s never really gonna forgive me for making us long distance.”

“How did you do that? He’s the one who moved to San Francisco.”

“Well – yeah, but he decided first.”

“You moved ten miles from the college where you met.”

“Sure I did, but—”

“Didn’t he get into Harvard, too?”

“Yes, but he wants to go into AIDS research and—”

“I’m sure UCSF was the best choice for him, Bittle, just like Flour was the best choice for you, but Connor’s definitely the one who made your relationship long distance. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s him.”

“I don’t want him to apologize! He’s just following his dreams.”

“So are you.”

“Well – yeah.” Lord, it’s that simple, isn’t it? Eric deletes the email, smiling again. “I’ll just remind him of that the next time we talk.”

Jack smiles back at him. “Good.”

Eric and Connor have a video chat scheduled for the next night. It’s ten thirty in Boston, which is way later than Eric should be staying up – his shift starts in six hours. But it’s only seven thirty in San Francisco and Connor just got out of class, so Eric takes what he can get.

When Connor signs on he looks so exhausted Eric decides it’s not worth bringing up how they’re both following their dreams… at least until Connor says, “When do you think you can fly out for a weekend?” as if he’s never asked this before, and doesn’t know Eric’s “weekend” is Monday and Tuesday, days Connor has class for ten hours straight, as if Eric wouldn’t spend half the visit on a plane – as if Connor’s not the one who said he had too much to catch up on to come back east for his spring break last month. Connor’s summer break is their next best chance to spend some time together, and it sucks, but pretending it’s not true isn’t helping anything.

“Connor.”

“I’m sorry. I know—”

“I know you know! Please don’t apologize for this again. You need to stop pretending like our relationship can possibly be _convenient_ because it just can’t right now. It’s all hard work all the time. We live on opposite sides of the country and we have opposite schedules and—”

“And you don’t love me enough to change that.”

That hits Eric like a punch in the chest. He gasps, “Connor.”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Why is it _my_ job to change that?”

“I can’t change when my classes are scheduled!”

“I don’t choose my shifts, either.”

“Eric, come on. I’m in _medical_ school,” Connor says, like that’s so much more important than anything Eric’s doing. Maybe more important than anything Eric could ever choose to do.

“And I’m a baker and that's so easy to give up—”

“I’m not asking you to be my housewife! You can be a baker anywhere, Eric!”

“I want to be a baker—”

“In Boston! I know! You would rather be in beautiful Boston, at the best bakery in the world, so close to all your favorite people—”

“Now wait a minute.” Had Connor been stewing about Eric’s pros and cons list for staying in the northeast all this time?

“I’m sorry I don’t get half the year off like _Jack_ the hockey god—”

“Jack!” And they were back to Jack. “Damn it, Connor, Jack has nothing to do with this!”

“How can you say that?”

“I can’t! You know what, I can’t, because _you_ keep—”

“ _Me?_ He’s the one—”

“He’s the one who reminded me to pay my electric bill last month, actually.” Eric still isn’t sure how Jack figured that one out, but Eric definitely would have woken up freezing some morning if it hadn’t been for him. “He’s the one who roasted two chickens just so he could give one to me. He’s—”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better? He’s not your boyfriend! Why is he doing all that?”

Eric opens his mouth, but realizes he’s going to say, _Because he loves me!_ and stops himself in time. That’s definitely not going to help. Eric tries to calm down and take a moment to think.

“Connor, what’s my manager’s name?” he says, finally.

That brings Connor up short. He looks around his room for the answer and then snaps his fingers. “Katie!”

No. That’s close, but not really. It’s not like forgetting if it’s _Care-a_ or _Cahr-a_. Eric talks about Kara all the time. He and Connor had her over for dinner last summer.

Shit. The truth is so obvious and Eric has been trying so hard not to admit it to himself. The problem here isn’t really that every conversation comes back around to Eric moving to California, or Eric’s friendship with Jack. The problem is that it’s never about Eric, what he wants, and does with his day, and thinks about. Not anymore. Connor loves what Eric _could_ be more than he loves the actual Eric, what their relationship could be if they lived together and had plenty of time for each other, like last year.

Eric still loves Connor, but it’s probably more about Connor’s potential on Eric’s end, too, anymore. This relationship has done nothing but take from the both of them for a while now.

“Connor, I’m not happy.”

Connor actually brightens at that. “I’m not happy either, babe! That’s why you should—”

“No, it’s not. That’s why we need to break up.”

 

* * *

 

Connor would probably feel very vindicated to know the first thing Eric wants to do after Connor stops yelling and hangs up on him is call Jack. He resists the temptation for the time it takes to preheat the oven.

“Do you want me to come over?”

Eric sniffles. “No.”

“I’m coming over. What are you baking?”

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

“Do you have enough milk?”

Eric looks in the fridge and the almost-empty gallon container is what puts him over the edge. He bursts into tears. “No!”

“I’ll bring milk.”

“Whole milk.”

“Bitty—” Jack chuckles. “I _know_.”

Eric puts on _Beyoncé_ (2013) and dances and bakes and cleans and cries when it hits him again that Connor is such a great person, and kind, and funny, and beautiful, and he was so good for Eric their last year at Samwell – but he’s not anymore, and Eric isn’t good for Connor, either, and they really, really shouldn’t be together anymore. Jack gets there with milk as Eric’s moving the cookies onto the cooling rack. 

They take still-hot cookies and tall glasses of milk to Eric’s couch and Jack lets him go on and on about every little thing that’s been souring between them, even stuff he wouldn’t let himself think about before now, like how Connor’s terrible at dirty talk, so how did they ever expect cybersex to be a satisfying way to maintain that part of their relationship?

“The thing is, we had so many problems for him to focus on. Why did he always focus on you?”

“Me?”

Damn! Eric never mentioned that particular problem to Jack. It had already poisoned one of his relationships so much, he didn’t want it to leak into another one.

“Yeah, he – he was kind of super jealous of you. I know it’s crazy.”

Jack doesn’t reply for a long time, just stares down at the pile of rubble he’s made of his cookie. Finally, he says, “It’s not – really – crazy. That’s probably my fault.”

“No! What do you mean your fault?”

Jack’s quiet for another long time. Eric doesn’t try to fill the silence.

“I’ve never gotten over you, Bitty.”

There’s that twist in his chest, but this time it just keeps on twisting. He whispers, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, hey, don’t apologize for that. You can’t help how you feel.”

Lord knows nothing could have helped Eric when he was in love with Jack three years ago. Except time and distance, of course, those inexorable forces which apparently had no effect on Jack’s feelings, all these months and miles later.

“I’m sure Connor could see that. It must have made him nuts. It made me nuts seeing how in love with you _he_ is and he’s supposed to love you. You want him to love you.

“Maybe I should have stayed away from you, but I—” Jack shrugs. “I didn’t want to anymore. Just having you as a friend is enough. No, it’s – it’s everything, Bitty. It’s the best thing in my life. It didn’t help, when I stopped talking to you after – everything last year. I tried dating for a while, but just – nothing was happening. Nothing.

“I think – it doesn’t happen that easily for me. Loving someone, wanting someone like that. It’s only happened twice for me and honestly – loving you is nothing like loving—” Jack glances up to meet Eric’s eyes for just a second before looking down again. “—loving Kent.”

Kent. Kent Parson. _Oh my god._ Eric’s hands want to start fluttering but he clasps them together and presses them against his knee to keep them still. Now is not the time to freak out about that revelation, but holy shit, _Kent Parson._

“That love just wore me down, but loving you – it builds me up. Makes me better. It’s nourishing.”

Jack looks at Eric with his huge blue eyes and the most nervous little smile. Then he looks down and Eric follows his gaze to watch him reach out with one finger to trace the hem of Eric’s jeans, careful not to touch the bare skin of Eric’s ankle, but so, so close and Eric—  

Holy _shit._

Eric wants to kiss Jack. Eric is _desperate_ to kiss Jack.

The twisting in Eric’s chest reaches the breaking point and _snaps_ , spinning wildly back the other direction as he realizes he wants to kiss Jack all the time. It’s a constant quiet humming, like the sound of the refrigerator running that he doesn’t notice anymore. Or like the earth moving a thousand miles per hour beneath his feat.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I need you to go.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. He just nods and stands and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

It takes Eric about five seconds to start to worry. Jack is going out into the dark, drizzly night and he’s about to have a panic attack and – Eric runs after him, calling out, “Jack!” and catching him on the second flight of stairs down.

Jack turns back, his expression painfully hopeful. “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ – are _you_ —?” Eric takes a deep breath. _“_ Will you text me when you get back to Shitty’s?”

“Sure. I’m okay, Bittle.”

Well, that makes one of them.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Eric wakes up to a text from Lardo: _How are you doing?_

Eric buries his face in his pillow and debates calling in sick to work and ignoring everything and everyone for the rest of the day. Then he gets up and replies as he walks to the bathroom. _Not great. How did you know?_

Lardo must be coming off an all-nighter because though it’s barely four in the morning, she’s quick to reply: _Jack texted me. He didn’t tell me anything, just that you might need someone to talk to._

Jack! Lord, this boy. Eric is _so in love with him._

Eric types out: _Broke up with Connor. And realized somewhere along the line I fell love with Jack and now I feel like I’ve been inadvertently cheating on Connor for months._ and then throws his phone out the bathroom door and gets in the shower.

 

_I think you’ve been avoiding looking directly at your feelings for Jack since you first met him, so it’s no surprise it snuck up on you. Would apologizing to Connor make you feel better?_

_Yeah, probably. But it’s seriously no surprise to you I was this much of an idiot??_

_You once told me you always want pizza, it’s just a matter of how much. Maybe it’s like that._

 

Pizza. Well, that’s something to think about at least.

Eric goes to work and bakes his heart out. Nothing allows him to focus like making food. It’s almost meditative. He doesn’t think about Connor, or Jack, or even pizza – not _too_ much, anyway, though now that Lardo’s brought it up, Eric is craving a nice thin crust with super spicy pepperoni. He buys one on the way home, along with a bottle of red wine, and finishes them both by himself.

So Eric is in love with Jack. It’s not a pilot light, the warm little lingering affection he had long-accepted would never go away. No, this love is on full heat, hotter than it was the first time Eric fell in love with him, hotter than Eric has ever felt anything in his life.

How did he ignore it for so long? It’s no surprise that Jack is one of his best friends, and Eric could almost forgive himself for thinking a really fulfilling friendship was all it was. Jack was quietly filling in all the roles that would have been filled by Connor if he’d been closer. They ate dinner together at least twice a week, talked on the phone almost every day. Eric texted Jack before anyone else because Jack had been present for so much of what made new events worth commenting on, so there was less to explain. They ended up escorting each other to parties and even a few Falconer events, before Jack came out and they were worried it would be misconstrued. They had been dating in all but name.

And a few particular actions.

And ah, there’s the rub. Eric distinctly remembers the crazy _want_  he couldn’t shake off his sophomore year. He couldn’t have passed those feelings off as platonic to himself. Where has that desire been? Eric does an image search for “Jack Zimmermann” and – yep, _there_ it is, building as Eric scrolls through the thumbnails – that gnawing, aching arousal like maybe he should give up on this pie dough and get on his knees for Jack right there in the Haus kitchen, just to see how strong that sweet, spicy smell was in between his legs.   

With a jolt, Eric realizes this isn’t like his perpetual desire for pizza. It’s more like the constant pain he was in when he was figure skating. His pain scale was all skewed, his 1 being what he now considered a 5. As long as he wouldn’t cause permanent damage, there was nothing to do about pain but keep moving through it. He had to finish his routine, or focus in class so he’d pass and keep being allowed to skate, or fall asleep so he would have enough energy to skate and go to school again the next day. Eric got very good at putting pain aside so he could get on with his life.

He was apparently equally good at putting his feelings for Jack aside when he was dating someone else. Jesus. He really owes Connor an apology.

In the end, all Eric is brave enough to do is text him: _I’m sorry. You weren’t crazy. I’ve been falling back in love with Jack._

Connor doesn’t respond before Eric has to start work the next morning. At ten Eric takes a break to pee and shovel some soup in his mouth, and checks his phone to see four replies from Connor. The first batch came in around two-thirty in the morning, west coast time:

 

_Fucking. I KNOW ERIC_

 

_He’s fucking in love as fuck with you too in case you’re planning on moping about it for fucking months don’t bother_

_Who am I kidding you probably went straight to him you’re probably asleep next to him right now_

 

Then one more, two hours later: _That wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t working. I’m sorry, too._

The only way Eric can think to respond to that is, _Thank you._

Almost immediately Connor sends back, _Fuck you_ , and the poop emoji.

Eric grins. They might be okay. Eventually.

Eric treats himself to a creampuff and a walk down to the wharf, and calls Jack. They haven’t talked in thirty-seven hours, which is the longest they’ve gone since Jack walked into Flour last June.

“Bitty,” Jack says after one ring. Has he always said Eric’s name that way? Has it always made Eric feel like this? “Hi.”

“Hi! Hi.”

“Hi. How are you?”

“Oh, gracious, I’m just fine. Beautiful day! How are—” No, now is not the time for his Southern manners. “Are you still in Boston? I know you were planning to stay a while – before, but – um, do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I promise I’ll be better company this time.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Doesn’t need to be good company when he’s inviting Jack into his home, good lord. Eric starts skipping down the street like a lunatic, feels like pure sunshine is zipping through his veins. He wants to shout, _JACK ZIMMERMANN_ from the top of his lungs and swing around a lamppost.

Eric forces himself to speak calmly: “Nevertheless—”

“I’d love to come.”

“Great! I’ll see you at – is four too early?”

“No, four’s great. I’ll be there.”

“Great, that’s perfect, that’s—”

“Can I bring anything?”

 _A change of clothes_ , is on the tip of Eric’s tongue, but he holds back. Plus, one of Eric’s dresser drawers is reserved for guests’ leftover clothes. It keeps one pair of Shitty’s underwear, Ransom’s sweater, Chowder’s scarf, and at least a couple of workouts’ worth of Jack’s stuff.

“No,” Eric says, “just yourself.”

 

* * *

 

It’s much harder to distract himself with work the rest of day. He has so much to do before Jack gets there tonight – shower, change his sheets, make dinner, decide on mood music, decide how much clothing he can forgo without looking slutty. Should he jerk off to take the edge off? Should he stretch himself open, let them get to the action a little faster?

No, that feels like tempting fate. What if—

Eric tries to put the fear aside, but it keeps finding its way front and center in Eric’s mind. What if Jack didn’t mean it? What if he only wanted what he couldn’t have? What if he decided to check if Kent Parson still loves him, too? What if he thought it would be too complicated to be in the spotlight with a boyfriend? What if they tried it and Jack realized he deserved better than Eric?

It’s a useless line of thought – endless lines of thought – and Eric really just needs this day to be over with and change his damn sheets because it’s been almost three weeks since he changed them last and his mother would be _horrified_ that he plans to ask someone else to sleep on them tonight.

By the end of his shift he’s only good for prepping pie fillings and Kara sends him home a little early. Eric speeds around getting everything done, but he’s still out of breath when answers the door at 4:02 PM.

“Jack,” Eric breathes, “hi.”

Jack looks half-terrible, like he hasn’t slept or eaten since Eric last saw him, and half – gussied up is the phrase that comes to mind. His hair is combed to the side, he’s freshly shaved, and he’s wearing a crisp button down shirt that matches his eyes. “Hi,” he says and Eric feels like he might swoon.

“Hi.” Jack doesn’t say anything, a grin spreading across his face. Eric smiles back, confused. “What is it?”

Jack steps forward a little and – lord, Eric hasn’t even let him inside. He backs up and swings the door wide open. “Oh my goodness, come in, come in, please. Thanks so much for coming over. I’m making ratatouille – how does that sound? It’s pretty healthy, just a little goat cheese, and I brought home a nice loaf of bread from work, if you want to indulge in some white flour.”

“Bitty.”

Jack puts his hand on Eric’s shoulder. Eric quiets and looks back up at Jack’s face. No, that’s too much. He looks straight ahead at Jack’s chest and brings his hands up to fiddle with one of his shirt buttons.

“Jack – Jack, I’m real sorry for kicking you out on Tuesday.”

That is not what he meant to say. Eric could smack himself. He hadn’t planned on bringing it up until they finished eating.

“No, no, Bitty, you did the right thing. Shitty was so pissed at me. I never should have told you all that right after you broke up with your boyfriend – or maybe ever, uh – did you—” Jack looks like he’s bracing himself for a punch. “I guess you’re back together with Connor?”

Eric blinks. “No! Oh my goodness, Jack, no, no – that’s been the farthest thing from my mind.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I should have ended things with him months ago. I just didn’t realize why I’ve been – so happy.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No! Jack, please—” Eric makes himself hold Jack’s gaze this time. “You haven’t done a single damn thing wrong. You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had this past year, and a perfect gentleman to boot. I need you to believe that.”

“Okay.”

“Now, me on the other hand—” Eric heaves in a breath. “I’m in love with you. Again or – still? I don’t know anymore. I guess it doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to – I never, ever wanted to hurt Connor or – or you! Did it feel like I was leading you on? It just felt so natural I didn’t notice it happening. I didn’t notice until after I’d broken up with him, can you believe that? You were talking over there on the couch and all of a sudden I just wanted to kiss you so bad. Like I’d been starving for it.”

“Oh.”

Jack’s still holding Eric’s shoulder. Slowly, so slowly, he moves his hand up Eric’s neck, until he’s cupping his jaw, an echo of that night on the lawn at the playoff party.

Eric can’t breathe. “Do you—”

Jack kisses him before Eric can finish the thought. For a moment, he’s too surprised to react. Little sensations break through – Jack’s fingers fluttering against Eric’s temple, his breath on Eric’s cheek, the smooth skin of his chin, his mouth opening against Bitty’s, hot and wet – and that’s what kicks Eric into motion. Just as Jack is pulling back Eric surges forward and throws his arms around Jack’s neck.

Jack pulls just far enough back to ask, “It’s not too soon?”

“No, um,” Eric laughs. “I think it’s about time.”

And they’re kissing again. It feels like he’s been waiting for this his whole life. It was so worth it.

Eric urges Jack backwards toward his bed, never more grateful that this apartment is so small. Jack’s calves hit the edge of the mattress and Eric pushes him down till he’s sitting and then Eric straddles him, knees on either side of Jack’s hips.

Eric moves his mouth down Jack’s jaw and Jack mirrors him, his mouth hot and sloppy against Eric’s skin. Eric reaches Jack’s ear and sucks his earlobe into his mouth, dragging it between his teeth as he pulls back.

“Connor—” Jack gasps, which is the last word Eric expected to come out of Jack’s mouth right now. He pulls back and looks Jack in the eyes.

“What about him?”

“He used to – mark you up.”

Jack puts his hands around Eric’s waist, gently at first, then harder and – a little harder, pulling him down to meet Jack’s hips.

“Mm,” Eric gasps, “yeah.”

“Did you – like that?”

“I mean, it was pretty embarrassing. And he just did it to, um—”

“To show me who you belonged to.” Eric nods. “Yeah, I got that message loud and clear. Did you – enjoy – belonging to him? Not that you—” Jack looks horrified and Eric bites his lip to keep from smiling. “I’m sorry, Bits, I don’t mean to objectify you, I just—”

“You want to mark me up?”

“I – actually – would you mark _me_ up a little bit?”

A sharp burst of desire steals the air from his lungs, almost painfully intense. All he can do is gasp, “Jack—” and squeeze his hands around Jack’s ribs.

“Want to – feel you on me – all the time.”

Trying to steady his breathing, Eric leans forward and runs the tip of his nose down the smooth, muscular line of Jack’s throat, focusing on the heat of Jack’s skin, the pale, soft peach fuzz there, and then – he bites down right where his throat meets his shoulder. Jack starts to tremble, his whole body going slack underneath Eric, dropping his head onto Eric’s opposite shoulder as Eric sucks on his skin, savoring the taste of him, clean and a little salty.

Eric brings his hand up and presses down gently on the darkening mark he left on Jack’s skin and Jack whimpers.

“Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Want to keep you with me,” Jack whispers.

“Oh, Jack. I’m never letting go of you again.”

Eric pushes him onto his back and kisses him again.

Without warning Jack flips them around so he’s on top of Eric. _Yes, please._ Eric shivers at the feeling of Jack’s big body covering him completely, almost too heavy to be comfortable. Jack gazes at him for a moment – then he sits up. “Shouldn’t we eat dinner?”

“Oh! Sure, we could—”

Jack hops off the bed and strides to the kitchen. “Should I open this wine?” he calls.

Okay. Maybe Jack’s starving and doesn’t want to be distracted by that during sex. They’ll just continue this after dinner.

They don’t continue after dinner.

Or, well – they do. They make out and it’s incredible and Eric is basically humping Jack’s leg and he moves his hands toward Jack’s belt and—

Jack jumps up. “It’s getting late!” Eric glances at his bedside clock, and it’s only seven-thirty, but – unfortunately, that _is_ late for him. Which is why they need to hurry up and take their pants off. “I’m going to take a shower,” Jack continues.

“Oh!” Shower sex seems a little ambitious for their first time, but that could be fun. Eric slides across the bed, leering at Jack. “Do you want some—?”

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Jack! No, of course I don’t mind.”

Jack smiles. “‘Swasome.” Eric laughs and Jack leans down to press a long, sweet kiss to his mouth. “I’ll be quick.”

Then he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door firmly behind him.

Huh.

No shower sex tonight, then. Or – no sex at all? Because why would Jack take a shower before all the sweat and lube and come?

Or maybe – Eric blushes, even as he pulls open his pants and finally gets a hand on his cock – Jack’s _preparing_ for anal play in there. Eric learned the hard way that careful cleaning is a necessary first step. Jack doesn’t linger, however, shutting off the water about three minutes after he starts, so that’s probably not it. Eric hurries to strip and wrap a towel around his waist.

“I’m gonna—” Eric slips into the bathroom as Jack leaves it, hunching over to try and make his erection a little less obvious.

“You don’t usually shower at night, do you?”

Eric stutters out a laugh. “I guess tonight I do.”

 

* * *

 

Jack all but lives with him over the next week. Eric still spends the majority of his day at the bakery, but Jack wakes up and shares a cup of coffee with him, walks him to work through the dark streets, and comes by for a cookie twenty minutes before Eric’s shift ends, so he ends up spending every second of his free time with Jack.

They talk, and cook dinner, and run errands, and rewatch _Stranger Things_ , and go to bed together – but just to sleep. And cuddle and make out a lot. And get really aroused, the both of them, Eric can feel that clearly, but Jack makes no move to touch him below the waist and Eric has ended every night jerking off alone in the shower and – well, honestly, it’s okay if that’s how it’s always going to be. Just being allowed to touch him fills in so many gaps in Eric’s day, waking up slowly in Jack’s arms, grabbing Jack’s hand whenever he wants to, fitting himself underneath Jack’s arm while they stand in line at the drugstore, nibbling on his collarbone since it’s _right there_ and Jack is such a flawless specimen of man. But if that’s all Jack wants to do, Eric wants to know.

He works up the courage all evening. Finally, instead of telling Netflix they’re still watching, he sits up straight and turns to Jack and asks, “Honey, are you asexual?”

“No,” Jack says, sounding – not quite offended, but very surprised that Eric could wonder that. “I’m – demisexual, I guess? Shitty and I have talked about it a few times. I need to be in love to want to have sex. But once I’m in love I – want to. A lot.”

“So you want to – with me? You’re attracted to me?”

“Yes. Very – y _es_.”

“So why haven’t we – it’s been a week since you first kissed me and all we’ve done since then is – more kissing.”

“Yeah—” Jack inhales like he’s going to continue speaking, but after a beat, he just exhales again. Eric lets another beat pass before he ducks down and presses a long kiss to Jack’s mouth.

“I really like kissing you,” Eric says softly, “just so we’re clear on that.”

Jack puts his arms around Eric, lifts him up, and hauls him into his lap. Eric leans into him, slinging his arms around Jack’s neck.

“Thank you,” Jack says, and kisses him again. “I love you.” Jack gives him one more lingering kiss. “Okay. Have we – ever – before—?”

Jack’s really struggling, but Eric has no idea what he’s going for here. “Have we what?”

“Um – do you remember—?”

“Jack, what’s wrong?”

“Okay. I’m sure you don’t remember. There’s nothing to remember. _Merde._ About a year ago, I was – I think that I – I went back in time. I woke up in my twenty-five-year-old body on the day of my graduation.”

“Oh!” Okay, talk about left field. “Oh – yeah?”

“Maybe it was a dream. Probably. But it was a very long, very vivid dream.”

“What happened?”

“I – well, I freaked out, obviously, but when I calmed down, I realized – on that day, I hadn’t lost my shot yet. You were still interested in me.”

“The day you graduated? Lord – yes, I was crazy in love with you.”

“You – yeah. You really were. I woke you up at seven in the morning and I kissed you and I took you to a hotel—”

“To the Sheraton,” Eric says, remembering about a year ago, when Jack woke him up with a phone call, their first conversation in so long, “out by the mall.”

“Yeah.”

“You were calling to see if I remembered, if you were in that future. You sounded so sad.”

“Yeah. I thought maybe everything had changed, everything was better. But I was grateful you stayed on the phone with me. It was so good to hear your voice.”

“You mean I really did help?” Jack smiles and Eric kisses him, long and deep. “Then what happened? When you woke up in the past?”

“Well, we – um. We had sex all day, basically. Talked. Ordered room service a couple times.”

“You skipped your graduation?”

“I ignored over a hundred calls from my parents and Shitty, everyone on the team. You forgot your phone at the Haus.” Eric can feel his eyes boggling and Jack breathes out a laugh. “Yeah. I know that didn’t really happen – in this – timeline? I didn’t change the past. I remember going to graduation three years ago and I’ve seen pictures that match my memories.” Jack rubs his hands over his face. “It must have been a dream. But it was so vivid, like I said. And you – you have this little red mole on your hip, right below the dip of your waist. “ Jack slips his hand underneath Eric’s shirt and presses his finger against the birthmark. “I know that’s real and I know I noticed it for the first time on that day. Maybe I subconsciously noticed it before and it just came to the surface in the dream.

“It was just a dream,” Jack says again, clearly trying to convince himself. All these years Jack, serious, sensible Jack, has believed he traveled through time.

“Jack, honey, maybe it really happened. I can believe that.”

“You _can_?”

“Sure I can! If you think you visited the past, then why shouldn’t I believe it? If you start time traveling a lot we might need to talk it over again.”

“I’ve always felt kind of – terrible about it, actually. Like I took advantage of that younger you and like – like I know things about you now that you never wanted me to know.”

What a thing to be worried about. Eric runs his hands down Jack’s shoulders to comfort him. It’s a little strange, sure, that Jack’s already experienced their first time, and Eric hasn’t, but— “Wait! Are you saying that’s why we haven’t had sex yet?”

Jack shrugs, which may as well be a neon green sign of confirmation.

“I want you to know about my o-face, Jack, I promise.”

“But you didn’t know I already know and—”

“How long were you in the past?”

“It was a twenty-four-hour thing. We fell asleep around three in the morning and when I woke up it was to my seven o’clock alarm, back in my empty condo in Providence.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“It was—” Jack closes his eyes and shakes his head. “But it was actually good for me, in the end. I called my parents and they didn’t pick up. I called Shitty and he didn’t pick up.”

That doesn’t sound good. Jack sounds broken hearted over it. “It was seven in the morning, honey, of course they didn’t.”

“I know, but – in 2015, I woke up on the roof at Faber. Remember that? We all fell asleep up there after you guys made me and Shitty kiss center ice.” Eric nods. “I pulled Shitty aside and told him I was _from the future_ and he was right there with me from the word go. And I talked to – everybody – Lardo and Ransom and Holster and Chowder and Nursey and Dex – and it was the middle of the night and they were all groggy, and had their own things going on – but they all stopped and asked me what was wrong and – when I ended up back in 2017 I realized how much I’d isolated myself from – everybody. I have such amazing people in my life.”

Jack is smiling like he can’t believe his luck. Eric knows the feeling. “Yeah, you do.”

“Yeah. And I spent way too long not appreciating them. I made plans to visit Shitty in Boston the next two days I had free. I started looking into local charities. My therapist used to tell me when you want to hurt yourself, the best remedy is to help someone else.”

“You wanted to—”

“Not like that. I _had_ been hurting myself, ever since you turned me down, pushing myself too hard, pulling away from the people who care about me. But I wanted to stop that after I came back. So, yeah, whatever magic made me go back, I think that was why. Plus, I – I had a really good time – that day.” Jack is blushing. “With – not-you. _Crisse_ , I feel so weird about it.”

“Did you tell me you were from the future?”

“Of course! —after I kissed you once, though.”

“Well, the Eric Bittle in that timeline knew exactly what he was consenting to, honey. I’m sure I had a really good time, too. I kind of wish I could remember that. I was pure as the driven snow the last time you tapped this ass. Hope I live up to the memory.”

“You were – you’ll be – I’m so glad it’s _you,_ here _,_ right now. My own Bitty. Nothing could be better than this.”

Ah, there’s that sunshine zipping through his veins again. Eric far prefers it to the old twisting in his chest.

“You don’t wish you’d kissed me the day you graduated?”

“Part of me wishes I’d kissed you the day we met. But you know what? I bet in some timeline I did.”

Eric laughs. “I bet in another timeline I got to suck your cock a week ago like I wanted to.”

“You did?”

“I do.”

“Oh. You – can if you—”

Eric slides off the couch onto his knees and crawls in between Jack’s legs. “You really mean it?” he says, loosening up his accent to full Scarlett O’Hara, “Why, thank you, Mister Zimmermann.”

Jack flushes as Eric strokes his hands down Jack’s thighs to his knees and spreads them farther apart. Jack is already hard, the line of his cock straining against his pant leg.

“Up.” Eric taps Jack’s hips and Jack raises them enough for Eric to pull his pants and boxers off and toss them aside. Jack has a genuinely beautiful penis, long and thick and pink, with tidy, lightly furred balls. It’s a little absurd when you consider the rest of him, like God gave with both hands and then went back for a little more.

Eric’s mouth is watering as he reaches out to touch. Jack halts his hand before he can finally feel that hot, hard flesh. “I’m not gonna – I might come if you breathe on me too hard.”

“Mmm, no—” Eric sits back on his heels and looks him over. “I think you’re gonna wait until I tell you that you can come.”

Jack nods jerkily, letting out a weak whine. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock – and his thumb and forefinger barely overlap, _Jesus_ – and squeezes himself tightly, a human cock ring. “Is this okay?”

“Whatever you need to do, sweetheart—” Eric presses a quick kiss on the tip of Jack’s cock. “—to let me take my time with this.”

Jack’s cock jerks against Jack’s grip with a spurt of precome. Eric goes back in to take Jack’s whole cockhead in between his lips and savor that taste. Eric’s pretty good at giving head, and he always likes to show off for Jack, so then he takes a deep breath and eases the entire length of Jack’s cock into his mouth, until his lips press against Jack’s fist squeezing himself so tightly.

“Fuck, Bitty, how—” Eric looks up to watch Jack throw his head back as his words devolve into groaning. Eric stays in place, swallowing and swallowing, until he absolutely needs to breathe again, and then pulls back and winks.

“Boy’s got to have a hobby.”

Eric slows down then, kissing the insides of Jack’s thighs leisurely luxuriating in Jack’s scent, which is as strong and hot and perfect here as Eric always imagined. He sucks Jack’s balls into his mouth and then works his way back up to the tip of his cock.

Within a few minutes Jack is chanting, “Please, please, please—”

Eric feels like a merciful god when he touches Jack’s hand and says, “You’ve done so good, Jack, honey, go ahead—”

Jack immediately lets go of his grip on his cock and Eric strokes him once, twice – and Jack’s coming, cock quivering beautifully as it streaks come across Eric’s mouth. Eric keeps stroking him gently as it softens, and tongues the saltiness off his lips.

“C’mere, come—” Jack grabs at Eric’s shoulders, urging him upwards. Standing, Eric shucks off his shorts, uses his tank top to wipe off his face, and straddles Jack’s lap naked.

“Can I just—?” Jack wraps his huge hand around Eric’s cock and starts jerking him expertly, no teasing, nowhere to hide from the pleasure.

“Yeah,” Eric gasps, “yeah, please, sweetheart, I’m so close.”

Jack wraps his free arm around Eric’s waist as Eric leans down to kiss him, trembling as Jack pulls Eric’s orgasm out of him with steady, relentless strokes until Eric falls apart,

“Sorry, Bits,” Jack says sleepily.

“For what?”

“I'll give you the best blowjob of your life in a—” He yawns hugely. “—a little bit.”

“Oh, no, honey, you were so perfect, thank you.” Eric presses kisses across Jack’s chest. “If that’s the kind of orgasm you apologize for, what are the good ones like?”

Jack laughs. “It’s only going to get better from here.”

 

* * *

 

The Yale University Commencement falls right in the middle of the 2019 Eastern Conference Final and it is pure good luck that Jack doesn’t have a game on the actual day, and the games before and after are both in Providence.

“I still would have made it work,” Jack says even as Lardo assures him that he, and his six weeks’ worth of scruffy payoff beard, don’t have to come.

There’s no way in hell Jack would have missed Lardo’s graduation, of course, but it’s nice that it’s reasonably convenient.

After the ceremony Eric doesn’t even try to find Lardo. There are too many people who want to hug her here. Someone recognizes Jack and then he’s surrounded, too, so Eric wanders off and is about to pull out his phone when he sees Connor Bell standing twenty feet away, looking at his own phone.

“Connor!” Eric calls out before he can second guess himself. He jogs over as Connor looks up and smiles at him. “Hey!”

“Hey, Eric – I figured I’d see you here.”

“You should have texted! You didn’t come all this way for Lardo, did you?”

He and Lardo had become friends while he was dating Eric, but they didn’t keep in touch as far as Eric knew.

“No, my boyfriend’s sister graduated today, too. Small world, huh?” Connor points at a skinny blonde in thick-framed glasses, his arms wrapped tight around what amounts to a female version of himself. “That’s Teddy,” he says.

“And his sister?”

“Yeah, Dorothy. They’re twins. She started art school here when he started medical school at SF.”

“Ambitious family!”

“It’s crazy – their parents used to put her down that she should have picked a _gainful_ career like her brother, but she’s graduating without a dime of student debt and just sold a painting for ten thousand dollars, so—”

“Good for her!”

“I know!” They grin at each other and without straining at all Connor says, “Are you here with Jack?”

“I’m here with about fifty people—”

“Yeah, that was quite a cheer when they called Lardo’s name.”

“Shitty made us practice. But um – I’m still dating Jack, yeah.”

“No, I knew _that_. You realize there would be new reports if you broke up, right? I’m just glad he could make it, considering the Falconers are going to win the Cup this year – I’ve got money on it.”

“You – what?”

Connor had been supportive of Eric-the-hockey-player when they were together, but Eric wouldn’t have guessed he knew what the NHL’s championship trophy was called, never mind that Jack’s team was close to winning it.

“I’m kind of a huge hockey fan now? I started watching games when we broke up, just hoping to see the Falconers lose, but I got sucked into it. I’m a Penguins man, myself, but I can see the writing on the walls. Your line is basically unbeatable,” Connor says, looking over Eric’s shoulder and Eric turns to see Jack coming up behind him.

“Thanks, man,” Jack says, holding one arm out to shake Connor’s hand while the other finds its way around Eric’s shoulders. “Good to see you again. Are you here for Lardo?”

Connor laughs, and explains about his boyfriend and his sister again, and then waves the boyfriend over.

“Teddy, this is Eric Bittle and—”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Teddy says, his eyes wide. He turns to Connor and starts smacking him on the arm. “You’re—” _smack_ “—talking to—” _smack_ “—Jack—” _smack_ “—fucking—” _smack_ “—Zimmermann.”

“Teddy’s a hockey fan, too,” Connor laughs, “obviously. He’s from Minneapolis.”

“Eric,” Teddy says, a little more calmly, “it’s nice to finally meet Con’s college boyfriend, and obviously I knew you were dating Jack Zimmermann, but like – you guys were in _Vanity Fair_ last Christmas? And it’s super weird that you’re the same person?”

Eric laughs. “It’s weird to me, too, believe me.”

Teddy takes a deep breath and looks at Jack. “And it’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“Call me Jack, please.”

“Jesus Christ. Okay. Sure.”

“You can all him Teddy,” Connor says.

“Listen,” Eric says, “We rented out a restaurant for Lardo’s graduation party and I have some desserts to attend to—”

“No problem,” Connor says quickly. “We won’t keep—”

“No, no, I swear I’m not trying to duck out of this conversation! Do you want to come to the party? Teddy, your sister’s welcome, of course. Bring your whole family!”

“There’s plenty of pie for everyone,” Jack says.

“Well, of course—”

“You could each take a pie home, even.”

“Jack Zimmermann, I did not—”

“You did.”

“There’s a proper amount of pie,” Eric assures Connor and Teddy.

“Well, it’s Dot’s day, so it’s up to her,” Teddy says, “but that sounds great to me, Eric.”

“I’ll text you either way,” Connor says.

Eric grins. “Good.”

Connor and Teddy head back to the gaggle of blondes that seems to be Teddy’s family and Eric turns to Jack. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Jack ducks down and bites Eric on the chin. “I hope they come. They seem great.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand in both of his and brings it up to his mouth for a kiss, pulls him forward.

“Come on. Do you remember where we parked?”

“The pies are in a refrigerated van. I think we have a little while before we really need to get to the restaurant.”

“I told you, _you_ don’t need to be there until five with everyone else. Where’s Shitty? Do you want to—”

Jack wraps his arms around Eric, plastering himself to Eric’s back. “I want to fuck you,” he whispers into Eric’s ear, nudging his hardening cock against Eric’s ass.

Oh, damn – those pies really do need to start warming back up, but even after a year together, even after being fucked quite well that morning, Eric still can’t resist Jack’s bedroom voice, not even a little bit. He leans his head back against Jack’s shoulder and spreads his thighs a bit, letting Jack’s cock settle in between them. 

“Did it make you jealous, seeing Connor again?”

“Sort of,” Jack says. “Made me imagine running into you here if you two were still together and I still didn’t know what it feels like to hold you in my arms.”

“Oh, sweetheart—” Jack rolls his cock over Eric’s ass again, and slips two of his fingers in between the buttons of Eric’s shirt, reaching bare skin. “Big campus. And I bet all the classrooms are empty, huh?”

“Or we have our very own hotel room.”

Eric starts off toward a promising brick building and pulls Jack along by the arm. “Are you really gonna make me wait?”

Jack sighs, all long-suffering, but he can’t stop his grin. “Never again, Eric Bittle.”

In the end all the classrooms are locked and they have make do with their hotel room anyway, but it’s the thought that counts.

 

_fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> And now here's a quick timeline debrief in case you're at all confused or just want to confirm you understand how and when this all went down!
> 
>  **May 18, 2015**  
>  Comic-timeline Jack goes forward in time to May 2017 into the life of alternative timeline Jack (alternative timeline = this fic). The events of _find your grace, don't hide your face_ is comic!Jack’s time in the future.
> 
>  **May 18, 2015 _redux_**  
>  With no conscious memory of his day in the future, comic!Jack graduates and enjoys the events of Sophomore Year #17 onwards.
> 
> alt!Jack never visits the future and doesn’t kiss Bitty and decides to [sit here consumed with lust for the rest of several years](http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php/index.php?id=176).
> 
>  **February 2016**  
>  It's alt!Bitty's junior year. He and Connor start dating. (In case you’re interested, they met in a Caribbean Women’s Literature class they both took for the general education fulfillment. Their first date was dinner and a movie. The movie was _The Big Short_ which left both of them too depressed to put out that night.)
> 
>  **March 2016**  
>  SMH makes the playoffs and throws a kegster. alt!Jack attends, finds out Bitty would have liked Jack to kiss him not too long ago, but now it’s too late. alt!Jack avoids talking to Bitty or connecting with anyone at all for the next fourteen months.
> 
>  **March 2017**  
>  Man cannot live on hockey alone and alt!Jack injures his knee and is put on IR. (I just realized he’s explicitly only out for the last game of the season in [_find your grace_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6489943) wah! Oh well... or maybe I'm going to go back and fix that...)
> 
>  **May 18, 2017**  
>  alt!Jack goes back in time to May 2015 and takes advantage of his understanding of Bitty’s feelings (and his own) and deflowers our young baker for approximately nineteen hours straight.
> 
> alt!Bitty has no memory of this. There is, hypothetically, a third Bitty who _does_ remember these events, and a third Jack who does not. That actually sounds like an interesting quickie sequel...
> 
>  **May 18, 2017 _redux_**  
>  Remembering everything that happened in his day in the past, alt!Jack calls Bitty to see if his time in the past changed the future – that is the first scene of this fic! 
> 
> It didn’t, but Jack is inspired to fix his life, as seen throughout the rest of the fic, and given in [Summation](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheSummation) in the second to last scene.


End file.
